


Firelight in My Eyes

by seleneheart



Category: Riddle-Master Trilogy - Patricia A. McKillip
Genre: M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 14:32:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18662302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seleneheart/pseuds/seleneheart
Summary: In the wilderness, Deth pulls at Morgon





	Firelight in My Eyes

As the sun disappeared behind the western peaks, Morgon slid out of the vesta shape and sat before the merry campfire that Deth had started.

“Eat, Prince of Hed,” the harpist said, pushing a plate into the young man’s hands. “Even the vesta must rest some time.” The silver-eyed man was amused.

Morgon snorted, but took the proffered plate. He ate hungrily, the clear mountain air enhancing his already healthy appetite. After many minutes of silent, steady eating, he finally stretched out against a log.

“The air is so different here, so thin. I think that if I could find a mountain high enough, I could harp so that the whole Realm could hear me.”

“Shall we try it?” Deth asked, pulling open the bundle that held his own harp. “You have not practiced for some time.”

Morgon agreed and brought out the ancient starred harp that a blind wizard had made for him long before he was born. He paused, caught again by the beauty of the inlaid gold and ivory flickering in the firelight. Deth started a complicated tune and Morgon turned to follow him.

After a time, Morgon lost himself amidst the intricacies of Deth’s melody and removed his large work-roughened hands from the starred harp, ashamed once again that his lack of skill prevented the harp from being played as it deserved. He leaned the stars on his forehead to rest on the stars inlaid in the harp.

He watched Deth’s face as the harpist continued to play, the firelight limning the elegant, spare bones of his face and turning his silver-gilt hair into molten copper. The beauty of the harping seemed to pierce Morgon’s heart and with every note, something in him grew and pulled at him, as though the music was changing his shape.

An inarticulate need grew in the Prince of Hed, something he could not understand. He made a small sound, whether of protest against the desires filling him or in acknowledgment of the feelings that the harpist brought forth in him, he could not tell. Deth raised his head and stilled his hands on the harp strings. The harpist drew in a breath to frame a question and Morgon thought that the moment between the intake of breath and the words would last forever, as the entire world seemed to shift on its axis, awaiting the harpist’s answer to the want on Morgon’s face.

But Deth could clearly read what Morgon sought, even if the Prince did not understand it himself. And he closed his mouth, the words never spoken. Morgon slumped, his heart beating frantically, wondering if he had lost that precious thing which he hadn’t known he wanted.

Deth clenched his own harp, his ages-old calm shattered at last. “You don’t know what you ask of me,” his whisper was anguished. “I am a thousand years old and I played at your parents wedding. You are the hope of this age, Star-Bearer, but there is no hope for me.”

Morgon nodded, understanding what the harpist was saying, but tears were tracking down his face, as he felt that all his dreams had died. The Princess of An waiting for him far to the south was no more than a blurred memory.

The harpist seemed to check a violent motion, and then he put his harp back in its case, his hands unsteady.

“I didn’t know, I didn’t see, that the prophecies would lead to you. That I would find you so young and innocent, with a harp you couldn’t play and a crown under your bed.”

Deth returned to Morgon’s side, and his long slender fingers threaded through Morgon’s beer-colored hair. His thumb stroked Morgon’s cheek, wiping away the tears. “But High One help me, when you look at me like that, I forget about the decent thing, and I ache to teach you what you ask.”

“Please,” Morgon begged. “I learned to change shape for you, I’m trying to solve the deadliest riddles the Realm has ever seen. I’m miles from my home, seeking High One knows what. I’m learning to harp for you. Not for her or for the dead children or the prophecies that foretold my birth. Just because you wish it. You have pulled me after you, for you own reasons, but I trust you and follow you.”

Morgon broke off, trying not to sob.

“Shh,” Deth murmured, brushing his lips across Morgon’s face. Morgon leaned into the touch, and brought his hands around Deth’s waist. Deth gently guided him through the notes of their own song, as if he was teaching Morgon to harp with his body. When Morgon finally entered the harpist, he felt as though he had already answered the riddles that perplexed him.

They moved with a rhythm echoed by the winds on the peaks. As he climaxed, Morgon unwittingly reached out with his mind, trying to link to Deth. He heard only the howling of the winds, which were soon answered by the howling of his voice as the ecstasy welled through him.

Afterwards they lay wrapped in blankets, sated and tired. Morgon stared into the dying flames, comfortable, yet mildly curious about his inability to reach Deth’s mind. He had also sensed that, while the harpist had enjoyed their union, he had held himself back somehow from their pleasure.

Morgon completed the rest of the journey through the pass and towards Erlenstar Mountain in a happy daze. Deth smiled indulgently at Morgon’s high spirits.

The Prince of Hed was a half step away from falling completely in love with the harpist. That made Deth’s betrayal, when it came, that much more heart wrenching and Morgon thought that he would never recover and that he would never stop screaming.


End file.
